Best Laid Plans
by Tanya Tsuki
Summary: The goal: get Prussia, Spain, and France together by any means necessary. The means: England. The perpetrators: Hungary, Austria, Italy, and Germany. The results: Chaos.


_(A/N: This was written in collaboration with Qualapec over at livejournal. Pairings in this fic are Germany/Veneziano, Spain/Prussia/France, Austria/Hungary, and Austria/Hungary/England_

_Hetalia is not ours._

_Enjoy!)_

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Or, so the story goes, anyway. For Spain, Prussia, and France, it was constantly fluctuating and currently, they were in the middle of a 'worst of times' phase.

Spain wished his friends could simply choose to enjoy life. When they did, they all did. But someone would say something- Prussia would say something thoughtless, or France would say something too thoughtful, rapidly misinterpreted as a hidden slight-and then it was over and they were at each other's throats.

France wished his friends could simply choose to love. Sure Spain loved his tomatoes and playing with children and hanging out with Romano and Prussia had his fighting and beer and Germany, but neither of them had ever truly loved another. There was so much love to give, but they never seemed to find someone who could stand to take it all.

Prussia wished for someone who still called him by his name. Not East. Not Gilbert. Prussia. Spain and France would, usually, but when in a "worst of times" it was always iffy, especially with France.

Hungary thought they should just get together already. Yes, all three of them. They were already together most of the time as it was and bickered and acted like an old married couple anyway. They knew what each other wanted, and they knew how to provide. It really was only a matter of time; the rest of the world tended to agree.

Germany would come home some days to be terribly disturbed by the sight of his brother curled up on the couch watching TV, obviously alone. He doubted he'd moved from that spot all day, and suddenly he felt very guilty for having just returned from Italy's warmth.

And, so, one night after he'd been drinking, as these things have a tendency of beginning, he let spill his concern to Italy who passed it on to Hungary who decided that something must be done. They were going to get them together. It was a perfect idea.

They discussed a couple of different things. Due to a combination of Germany's flushing about sexual topics and Italy's short attention span, none of their plans moved beyond the drawing board stages.

"They need a common enemy," Germany finally muttered once drunk enough to think logically about it.

Hungary muttered an agreement, taking a dainty sip of her beer. "Got any ideas, Austria?"

Glaring, Austria stared at his drink. "Leave me out of it?"

"No, you're the one who almost told them the reason," Germany slurred.

"England?" Italy offered... or snored. It appeared he was fast asleep on the table.

"England would be a good idea," Hungary said sweetly. "...Except that this would be something to help France."

"He'd rather bite off his own tongue and die," Austria added.

"We don't have to tell him, do we?"

Their war council considered this.

"If we got him drunk," Germany slurred, "he'd agree to anything."

"Yes," Hungary nodded and took another sip. "And maybe we can make it worth his while? Tell him that with France in a relationship with Spain and Prussia, he would no longer bother him?"

"And we can't simply tell those three morons to get together because...?" Austria snapped.

There was a long silence to follow the stupendous airiness of that statement.

"Maybe Spain, sweet," Hungary voiced everyone's thoughts. "But you know what Prussia and France are like. If something isn't bludgeoned into their heads they don't understand."

Italy, having just woken up, looked terrified. "Ve~ we can't bludgeon them. There will be blood and it'll be icky and big brother France will cry."

"Mhm. Italy is right," Germany said morosely. "Violence is not the way to go. England is the best choice."

Hungary refrained from telling them that she was not speaking literally and that getting England involved might very well lead to bloodshed anyway. Austria also said nothing, although she could feel his meaningful stare at the side of her head as she took a swig of beer.

"Right..." Hungary finally said after another long silence. "Anyone for England, say 'aye.'"

There was a mumble of agreement from Germany. Austria took a sip of wine and agreed. Italy threw his arms up in the air and cheered something about how he'd make dinner for them when they came over together after it was done.

"So then we're agreed. We will use England to get them together. Meeting adjourned." Hungary finished off her beer and slammed the mug down onto the table. Shakily, she stood and Austria came to her side, barely hiding an eye roll, and steadied her out the door.

It wasn't until they'd left that Italy pulled at Germany's shirt and asked, "What's England going to do?"

"With any luck, he's going to help my brother enjoy life again." Wait? Had he just said that? No. That was the beer talking. He didn't exactly know what England would do, that was for Hungary to concoct in her dark designs. He had no talent for...people. Or manipulation. But he was glad to be doing something.

Before he said anything else, he passed out on the bar table.

Italy picked at Germany's shirt again. "Germany? Did you fall asleep? Is it time for sleep? Can Italy sleep with you?" No response, as was to be expected by someone in a beer induced stupor, but Italy shrugged and took it as a yes, snuggling close to Germany before passing out again.

* * *

"Plan Cannot Possibly Fail: Step One, Get England, France, Prussia, and Spain in the same room. Step Two, Get England very, very drunk. Step Three, Wait until England starts picking on France or Prussia respectively. Step Four, Watch the fireworks, and make sure the three of them are with each other when it's done.

Austria finished reading the plan aloud and stared at Hungary, Germany, and Italy. "You can't be serious. This will never work."

"Sure it will!" Italy chirped, detaching himself from Germany's arm to come over and pointed at the list. "It's perfect!"

"The three of them being there for each other is nothing new," Hungary told him.

"Exactly." Austria saw nothing but blank faces and sighed. "Their being there for each other is nothing new. Why aren't they together, then?"

Hungary sighed. "I've explained this before. They. Are. Very. Stubborn. People...and...there are other reasons." She saddened for a moment. "But the past isn't important. None of them are happy right now, so something needs to change."

"I suppose," Austria handed Italy the paper and watched as he bounded back to Germany. "So who's going to call England?"

Those blank stares turned into meaningful looks at him.

"No, absolutely not, I am _not_ getting further involved!"

They kept staring.

"No," Austria affirmed. "I avoid speaking to him whenever possible. This is England. Sarcasm runs like tea and he seems to think that means he's NOT a hooligan at heart."

An hour later and Austria was on the phone with England. Damn Hungary and her feminine wiles.

So...the plan was set to go down on Saturday at a party hosted by Hungary and Austria at their home.

The guests would be England, Prussia, Spain, and France and none of them had any idea the real reason behind the party. Germany and Italy would stop by for a time for appearances sake but would leave early, making sure Romano was not anywhere near Spain when it came time for The Plan to really go into action.

Hungary was putting the final touches on their appetizers while Austria made tortes. They were in their kitchen, waiting for guests to arrive.

She smiled.

Austria smiled back. "What's that about, then?"

"I just...like watching you cook."

"Ah... I see." Austria cleared his throat, and managed not to jump when a bang was heard behind him in the oven.

Hungary's smile strained slightly as Austria went to pull out one last round of pastries.

Too bad they had guests coming over, because he had a little bit of batter smeared on his cheek...

Of course, that was when someone started _pounding_ on her door, and there was only one person who didn't use her doorbell.

"Prussia," Hungary snarled, but then her smile was back in place. "You have some batter on your cheek," she told Austria, reaching out and rubbing her finger through it and bringing it to her mouth. She gave him a little wink then left the room to answer the door.

Austria sighed. He'd temporarily forgotten that going through with this plan would require contact with Prussia. Steeling himself against what was sure to be a very long and eventful night, he put the appetizers on a tray and carried them out into the living room.

He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

"Prussia," he snapped. "Explain yourself." The tray in his hand slipped slightly, but did not fall.

Spain's hands were wrapped around Prussia's waist, France clung to his side, one hand suggestively hovering over the line of Prussia's jeans, and he had his hands wrapped around both their shoulders.

Good Lord.

They looked like a couple... only there were three of them.

Prussia raised an eyebrow at Austria. "What? Like you've never gotten all handsy with Hungary?"

Austria stared over Prussia's shoulder at Hungary who just shrugged, though she had a giant grin on her face.

Well. Machiavellian Schemes aside, it seemed they had already entered into the arrangement that everyone and Prussia's brother thought was necessary.

Everything had worked out for the best, it seemed.

Then England walked through the door.

England. The one who was supposed to bring them together. England... The one they were going to get drunk. England. The one who no longer needed to be there.

"I brought you some scones, Hungary," he told her in his best gentleman voice.

England...who had a very incendiary relationship with France and Prussia, who could very well drive them apart again if he said the wrong thing.

Despite the panic in her eyes, Hungary managed to smile and cordially hug him.

"So, is this everyone?" England asked, curling his lip.

"Germany and Italy will be here, soon," Hungary told him and guided him away from the entangled trio.

"This isn't some excuse to get us all drunk and into an orgy for your own sick and twisted needs, is it?"

France grinned at the mention of an orgy. "Oh dear, wouldn't you enjoy that, _Angleterre_? It might actually do you some good to get laid."

"Shut it, frog," England snapped. "You aren't getting anywhere near me."

"Oh, ow, you wound me." France faked a tone of pain and held his hand to his forehead as if he were about to swoon from the insult.

Prussia leaned over and nibbled at France's ear. "Don't worry, babe. I'll protect you from Eyebrows."

England let out a snort of derision and stomped into the kitchen. "I'll put out the scones for you, Hungary," he called, refusing to turn around. Good thing he didn't, since Spain's hands had finally disappeared somewhere under Prussia's clothes.

Hungary was panicking. This...was not good. England got MOUTHY when he got drunk.

They needed to get rid of the alcohol.

She tried to subtly instruct Austria as such with frantic waving of the serving spoon she was holding.

"Veh~ Hungary are you-ow!" Italy cried upon letting himself in and being whacked with the spoon. "Oww Germany why did Hungary hit me it really hurt ooooooow!"

Germany forced out a comforting smile. "I'm sure it was an accident." Then, with a nod, "G'evening Hungary."

"Germany, Italy~!" she sang and danced over to give them a hug. "Get rid of the beer," she hissed into Germany's ear.

Germany was a lot of things. He had very little sense for social situations...but a quick survey of the room told him everything he needed to know. He was a smart boy, and Hungary rejoiced when she saw him piece everything together, and was deeply concerned when his look of panic mirrored hers.

He did the first thing that came to mind. "There's been a recall!"

"What? On England's crappy scones?" Prussia smirked.

"They are delicious and more gourmet than you could ever do, bastard!" England shouted, coming out of the kitchen with a plate of burnt scones in one hand and a half drunk beer in the other.

"No," Germany said firmly. "The beer."

England stared at him. "What?"

"I just heard on the news. That brand was recalled for a parasite."

England stared at the bottle in his hand. "Ok," he said after staring at it for a moment, contemplating, then finished it off. "We're Nations. Parasites aren't going to affect us." He held the plate out. "Scone?"

"Are you really willing to take that risk?" Germany asked, feeling sweat beading on the back of his neck. "Perhaps we are susceptible to this one. Apparently it's a mutation from a common intestinal worm and humans don't know how to fight it off yet."

England stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Then...if our people are going to get sick anyway then it won't matter. We'll be sick either way. I will need beer to get through this night. I'll take my chances."

Unbeknownst to everyone, Hungary had slipped into the kitchen while Germany and England were talking. Quickly, she poured the bottles out into the sink, taking a quick sip for liquid courage, hiding them when empty. She returned to the room just in time to see France, Prussia, and Spain pull apart, and all of them focus on England.

"The deed is done," she whispered to Austria as she passed by and worked her way into the middle of the room. "Who wants to hear Austria's newest composition?"

There was a general consensus (a short groan from Prussia, which was cut short by an elbow from Spain) and everyone sat down in the living room. The threesome claimed the sofa, Germany sat on the armchair, and Italy curled up in his lap, while England sat in the remaining chair and took out a knitting needle.

Austria gingerly sat on his piano bench, and Hungary proudly stood behind him. "I told you this wouldn't work," Austria whispered just before he began to play.

She sensually leaned down to kiss his neck, just above the line of his jacket. "Save the 'I told you so's until after the emergency." Then she sat down on the bench beside him. No matter how stressed she was, she did love to hear him play.

From that point on, everything looked like it was going fine. Everyone was being civil, and the absence of alcohol seemed to keep England from saying anything all of them would regret.

Until the tortes came out.

"Here, Austria made some lovely tortes," Hungary said and gathered everyone around the table. "Don't they look delicious?"

Spain reached out and grabbed a piece, sticking it in his mouth. "It tastes yummy~" he sang.

"I want some~!" Italy exclaimed and took a piece for himself. He stuck a bite in his mouth and sighed in delight. "This is really good." His eyes opened briefly. "Germany! You have to try this!" And then he was kissing him.

"Woah, West!" Prussia snickered, watching as his brother turned bright red.

"That- that is enough," Germany finally said and pulled away. "You're right, it was good." Italy beamed at him.

England frowned. "Where are my scones?"

Hungary swallowed, attempting to relieve the tightness in her throat, suddenly looking around for a scone, any scone, to eat.

Prussia shrugged. "Oh those lumps of clay? I think they're in the kitchen or something."

"They are not lumps of clay, you wanker," England snarled.

"They are not edible, either," France jumped in.

"Wouldn't you much rather have Austria's torte instead~?" Spain held up his plate of half eaten torte.

England glared. "I could do better."

"Sure you could, now go away," France said condescendingly, reaching up to Prussia's jawline.

"That's nauseating," England growled.

Prussia smirked. "You're just jealous."

"Of what? Three losers who-"

Hungary came up behind England and put a hand on his shoulder. "Found your scones! They're wonderful. Would you like one?"

At his appraising glance, she picked one up...and took a bite.

It tasted like potato. She'd never wanted to gag so much in her entire life. It was still like paste by the time she convinced herself to swallow. "They're delicious. Absolutely delicious."

England stared at her in surprise. "R-really?"

"Yes." She did _not_ cross her fingers, but a little bit of guilt did ebb its way in. He looked so happy.

"Are you fucking crying?" Prussia asked, laughing. "She's lying."

In a rare moment of reading the atmosphere, Italy felt the tension in the room rise and grabbed one of England's scones. He took a bite and, through the tears, managed out a "No, she's not lying. Y-yummy."

Italy looked like he was about to die, but somehow England interpreted that as Italy, the gourmet, being so utterly blown away by the quality of the scones that he could barely speak. Evil little thing he was, he grinned and offered a piece to Prussia, "Do you want to try?"

"Ah...I'll pass. I like the composition of my stomach just the way it is, thanks."

"Germany?" England asked and held the piece out to him.

Germany, unprepared, looked utterly terrified and began to shake his head no, but then Hungary elbowed him and he opened his mouth. Italy took it from England and placed it in, though Germany couldn't help but notice his hand shaking. Just how bad was it?

Reluctantly on two fronts, he let Italy put it in his mouth. To an outside observer, the movement looked almost sensual. To everyone who knew better, it was more like watching someone shoot their loved one in the foot under the threat of death themselves.

Germany got a very peculiar expression on his face as he chewed. "It tastes...very good." The subtext was: would someone please put soap in my mouth to wash out the taste?

England looked absolutely delighted and threw a look at Prussia as if to say 'can you believe what you're missing?' Prussia merely sneered.

Hungary worried her lip. She needed to change the direction of things, and she needed to change the direction now before anyone else had to eat England's scones or a fight broke out.

Austria did something that almost gave her a heart attack for the sheer subtle boldness of it.

He picked up a scone and offered it to Prussia. "Come now, you can't criticize something until you've tried it."

France smirked. "I'd rather not taste it on him later."

"Then you shouldn't critique," Austria said smoothly.

"You know, he has a point." Spain. Acting as the voice of reason, and causing France and Prussia to both look horrified at the change of things. He took the scone from Austria and bit into it, keeping the substance in his mouth and holding the rest of the scone out to his companions. "Three of us on one scone shouldn't-" he winced and swallowed "-be too difficult." He ignored the tears rolling down his face. "Then you can talk about it."

"You're not afraid, are you, frog?" England taunted.

Spurned by both a comment from his lover, and an unfaltering desire to berate England, courageously took a scone and bit into it.

France had to pride himself on not spitting it out. But he would never be able to forgive himself for letting such crap past his lips. Wordlessly, he held the rest of the scone out to Prussia.

Prussia stared at it. Then took it, still staring at it like it came from an alien planet, and ate it.

He rolled it around in his mouth, contemplating the flavor and swallowing thickly. "Oh god...Is it...supposed to taste like potato? Because if so then yes, they're good scones."

It was amazing how quickly England went from smiling to red and livid. "It's raisin, you boor!"

"Hey now," Prussia held his hands up in the universal sign of peace. "I tried to give you a compliment. Back the hell off."

France immediately jumped in to support Prussia. "You should truly take compliments to your cooking where you can find them.

Spain nodded seriously. "And Prussia has a point! They are wonderful potato scones. But they're kind of crappy if they weren't supposed to be a starchy vegetable."

"You... you..." England looked like he was about to go into a long tirade.

Italy covered his eyes in fear and hid behind Germany who wouldn't do anything besides facepalm. Suddenly, he regretted being Hungary's accomplice in the beer assassination ploy.

Hungary's eyes widened and she grabbed Austria hissing, "We have to stop him."

England looked snide. "Oh, so he backs you up_ now_, but what about-"

Hungary threw herself onto England's lap, pressing her lips to his and effectively shutting him up. His hands flailed in tandem to the convoluted mental workings going on. He was shocked. And then he was very pleased. And then he remembered the Austria was in the room and _good Lord was the woman drunk_?

Austria surveyed the scene disinterestedly for a moment. His wife, ex-wife, girlfriend? Hungary. His Hungary was kissing England. Randomly. She couldn't have been too drunk, but then she'd also said "we" hadn't she? She couldn't have been implying another threesome, right? Not that they hadn't in the past but... with England?

And then the moment was passed, and Hungary's leg had reached out, nudged his and he moved to join them. Why not?

He kissed her cheek to let her know he was there, and she broke away from England long enough to let Austria press an accepting kiss to her lips. In Hungarian, properly disguised with sensual overtones, he asked, "What was that?"

She replied, in an equally playful voice that England would interpret as sexual plotting. "I panicked and it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Prussia shouted, having been the first one to regain his voice after that display. "What the fucking fuck is going on? France? Spain? West? Italy? Any of you know?"

He was met with silence and head shakes.

Austria leaned into England, meeting his lips as Hungary worked on his neck. In Hungarian, he spoke into England's ear but directed it at her. "In the future, I advise against improvisation."

She hummed before saying, "In the future, I advise that you help me."

"I can speak Hungarian," England finally whispered in a stammer after hearing the front door shut behind Italy and Germany.

France, Prussia, and Spain were still left, however.

Hungary turned and tossed her hair. "You know what? Unless you guys want to join us, I think you might want to retire for the night." She was a fine actress.

France leered but Spain and Prussia both grabbed an arm and dragged him bodily to the door.

"Good night, Hungary, thanks for inviting us!" Spain called before they entered the night.

"Fucking English bastard taking Hungary and Austria from me," Prussia muttered.

Hungary promptly shut the door and sighed.

England was grinning like the devil. "All right, so what's your scam?"

Hungary muttered a quick curse and pondered whether England could get out of the house in the time it would take for her to grab her frying pan. Or her gun. Either would do. "We were trying to make them happy."

Austria raised an eyebrow. "Don't include me in this unnecessarily."

Rolling her eyes, Hungary inched towards the kitchen. The pan wasn't too far away... "Fine. We, as in Germany, Italy, and I were trying to make them happy."

England nodded, not looking convinced in the least. "And I was dragged in because... ?"

"Germany mentioned that a common enemy might bring them closer together," Austria admitted, moving to block the door.

England rolled his eyes. "Both of you stop that. You've been found out..." he narrowed his eyes. "But when they showed up they were already together, weren't they? Then what?"

"They were," Hungary confirmed, and shot Austria a confused look. What in the world was he doing blocking the door? "So then we had to keep the peace." A pause. "They hate you, you know."

"I wasn't aware," said England sarcastically.

"We were worried you'd say something inflammatory and drive them farther apart," Hungary admitted.

"...So you didn't actually like the scones?" England asked dryly.

Hungary felt a slight sinking in her heart. Was that really the most important thing right now? "Your scones have character," she acknowledged.

Austria snorted, and Hungary threw a glare in his direction.

"But you ate them. And so did Italy... and Germany... and you," England trailed off, looking at Austria. "You managed to get all three of them to eat one."

Austria gave a dignified nod. "Yes, I did. I believe it was one of the best accomplishments of the night, my musical performance aside."

Hungary studied her feet. …Now she even felt a little bad. She hadn't wanted to mislead him or give him false hope. "I think your oven might be broken. They weren't cooked all the way through."

England stared at her.

Then England burst out laughing. "The look on France's _face_. _Hah_! He ate my scones! The fucking frog finally ate one of my scones!"

Hungary smiled. Laughter was a good thing. "Yes, he did. I suppose we have both Austria and Spain to thank for that."

England immediately sobered at the mention of Spain. "So what's in it for me?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, I'm sure you don't want me to blow the lid on your little scheme, as brilliant and thought out as it was. Did you perhaps find your muses in a barroom during a conversation with an idiot and a socially challenged German?" England snickered. "I know there would be little love lost between you, Spain, and France...but Prussia would never let you live it down."

Hungary glared.

"Are you blackmailing me?"

England waved a hand airily around and there was a little skip in his step as he moved around the living room. "Blackmailing is such an ugly word- that's exactly what I'm doing."

Austria rolled his eyes, and couldn't hold back a smile at seeing Hungary's surprise. "I told you it would blow up in your face."

England turned on Austria. "You would abandon Hungary? That's low, even for someone like you."

Austria, suddenly looking very chagrined, looked at the floor and pushed his glasses up his nose.

Hungary...smiled a little. England may have been blackmailing her, but he really was a gentleman where it counted.

Austria cleared his throat and shook his head. "I'm just stating the simple facts – not abandoning her. She and I are…in this _together_." The last word was said through gritted teeth, sincere, but strained. "It's why I'm here in the first place."

England faced Hungary again. "All right, I'm still waiting for an offer. How do you honestly think Prussia would take the news that you felt sorry enough for him to set him up with his friends?"

Hungary didn't want to go there. She'd meddled, and that was her fault. But...she didn't want to start another rift between her and Prussia over something like this.

England was pure evil. That was the answer.

Austria crossed the living room until he stood face to face with England. "Surely, there's some way we can compensate you for your assistance..."

"Hm?" England raised an eyebrow.

Austria looked over at Hungary and, for once, it seemed that their improvisation was in sync as Hungary danced over to the two men. She stopped behind England, took one last look at Austria for confirmation. At his nod, she leaned in close to whisper into his ear, "Any way at all, just say the word."

Comprehension darted across England's face as he realized he was suddenly pinned between the two of them. Everything was starting to feel much warmer, and the sting of being used as a crutch for matchmaking was going away. He remembered that they both kissed very nicely, and that it had been quite a while since he'd had people be so gentle with him.

"This could work," he said. Austria merely smiled before leaning in and kissing him again.

Hungary slipped up behind him, wrapping her arms around England to grasp Austria's coat in order to bring them all closer. She nibbled the back of England's neck.

"Alright, this can definitely work," England amended when Austria allowed him enough air to speak.

Hungary hummed against his neck, staying silent. Sure, her plan had gone awry, all the best ones do. But she got to see her friends together, Italy being cute with Germany, and had a night of guy on guy to look forward to... neither of whom would forget her. Perhaps improvisation wasn't as bad as Austria thought it was, after all.


End file.
